


Absinthe and Gardenias

by ArgentWyvern



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-05-18 08:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14848928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentWyvern/pseuds/ArgentWyvern
Summary: After waking up from a coma and the aftermath of the time machine explosion, Hershel must learn to live without Claire. Fortunately, his journey is helped along by his dear friends. But as he grieves, he grows more and more aware of... certain feelings that only seem to increase the burden of his guilt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Clark, Hershel and Brenda raising Luke together](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/387401) by laytonaesthetics. 



> A while back, laytonaesthetics on Tumblr published a mood board for Clark, Hershel and Brenda raising Luke together. While I mulled over the possible ideas of how to make a fic from the mood board, been_there_pun_that began publishing "you feel like home to me", which I'll admit helped inspire me to make my own take on this particular polyship.   
> However, the setting here is very different from theirs (theirs is set after UF but mine is set shortly after the time machine experiment). Since it seems that Hershel drifted apart from the Tritons after Claire's death (in canon) before being reunited thanks to Luke, I wanted to delve a little into what his mood and thought processes were in order to act in such a way.   
> Enjoy!

He was floating. Like a corpse dragged by a river. He was almost certain that he, Hershel Layton, was dead. He had to be. Sparks flew before his eyes, and his body was unmovable. But, strangely enough, he wasn’t afraid. Perhaps it had to do with the muffled voices he could hear. He couldn’t make out words. But he could make out that whoever was speaking had a deep, warm voice. It was comforting. There was another voice there, too. Not as deep as the first, but definitely sweet and mellow. Sometimes the voices came and went, leaving him in the dark river that was carrying him through the eternity of time. But, suddenly… they grew louder than before. And for the first time, he could understand that they were saying. 

“…Still have faith that you’ll wake up.” The deeper voice said. It was Clark. His voice still sounded warm and kind, but also strained by tears. Why? What had made him so sad? 

And then, he felt something he had almost forgotten the feeling of. Skin. Someone was taking his hand. They had long, thin fingers: too small to be Clark— or even Claire. The hand that held his was clammy, small and shaking. 

“We have to go pick Luke up.” 

Ah. Of course. It was Brenda. She was holding his hand. 

“He’s been growing so much… when you wake up, you’ll have to see him!” The idea sounded fun. He would have loved to go with them, had he been able to move. Apart from his current inability to move, he also noticed that something was wrong… Why did Clark and Brenda sound so devastated? He had never heard them like this. They were usually bright, cheerful— not morose and quiet!

“Hershel…” Clark had said, and he felt him hold onto his other hand. Clark’s hand didn’t shake, but his voice did. “…We miss you, old bean.” 

He laughed— or would have, if his body had been able to do such action. That weird nickname always managed to make him laugh. Which was probably the reason why Clark always made it a point to call him by that. 

Hershel tried holding unto them. _Don’t leave_ , he thought. _Please stay_ — 

Suddenly, the darkness changed. He felt tangible. Heavy. An odd, rhythmic whooshing sound that he had never heard before filled his ears, and two figures before him, standing in contrast of the bright white background. 

“Doctor!” That was Brenda. The clammy hand left his side, and one of the figures left his vision. Clark was laughing. Hershel felt his hand being lifted up, and for some reason, he felt drops running down. Then he realized: Clark was crying. But he was still laughing. He hadn’t seen him so euphoric since the time he had successfully handed in his thesis. 

That was the day he had woken up from a two-month coma. 

The details of how and why he had ended up like that had to be pieced together by what he had been told. He had asked to meet an Inspector, to show him some evidence. He hadn’t specified to the inspector what the evidence was about, but Hershel was quite certain that it had to do with the incredibly odd explosion at the polydimensional institute that, for some reason, all the newspapers immediately after the incident wrongly called a “gas explosion”. 

When he hadn’t shown up at the time, a search brigade went looking for him and found him lying face down in a ditch. His head had been bashed with a blunt instrument, his thumbs had been dislocated and he had several of his ribs broken. Not a scrap of information was to be found on him. It was clear that, whoever had mugged him, had known fully that he had some incriminating evidence on him and had taken it from him. 

“The evidence…” Hershel scowled, trying to make himself remember what it entailed. He could remember it was something written down. But what did it say? Whenever he tried to conjure up the image, it just became more and more blurry. 

“Hershel, don’t beat yourself up over it.” Clark had said, with his more usual no-nonsense way. “It’s not your fault—” 

“It is my fault!” He snapped, tugging at his hair. “It _is_ my fault… I could have revealed what happened to Claire, on that day and I lost it! I can’t even remember what it was!” 

Clark pursed his lips. His eyes were glassy. “…Fine then. If you want it to be your fault, then it’s your fault. But I’d rather have you here, than a million pieces of evidence—” 

“So you don’t care about Claire?” He asked, driven by a spite that he hadn’t known he could conjure up. 

Clark’s eyes grew wide. For a moment, he looked as if he had unexpectedly been hit in the stomach and he couldn’t quite recover his breath. But then, his friend…He only bowed his head, his shoulders barely even shaking. He was crying. Quietly, as if to not make him notice his pain.

Hershel then realized that he had cut far deeper than he had thought. Of course… How could he have been so blind? 

Clark had known Claire for far longer than he did. They had been neighbors for years, and Claire had been like a sister to him. The only reason why Hershel had even met Claire in the first place was because Clark had one day, on a whim, introduced them to each other. He cared for Claire. Perhaps not in the way that Hershel cared for her, but his feelings were quite real.

Unbidden, a memory came to Hershel, as if to taunt him. 

Hershel had been held up at the site of the explosion to keep a small child company from running into the burning building. After the boy had been sent to safety, he had decided to first look for Claire amongst the people that were leaving the building. Then he went to the local hospitals to see if she had been taken there. Then he decided to go to the morgue, just to be safe… When the elevator doors opened, the first thing he heard were Brenda’s sobs. Standing next to her was Clark, looking at the face of who had once been Claire, but now was…

“Clark— I’m sorry.” He tried fixing his terrible mistake. But it as a little too late. There was no way that he would ever talk to him again after saying something so spiteful, _so stupid_ — 

“ ** _I care about you_.** ” Clark said, breaking past his shaking breaths. His eyes looked straight into his, and Hershel could see that despite the tears dancing on them, there was a fierce resolution in them. “I loved Claire: she was the funniest, smartest and best friend I’ve ever had for many years. But she’s dead, Hershel. She was murdered, just like the other ten people that were in that explosion. And it was all for money.” 

“—Money?” He asked, as if that motive just… it didn’t seem worthy enough for the degree of suffering he had seen on that day. 

“A victim pulled through and gave their testimony.” 

The penny dropped. So all this… his injuries, the evidence… it wasn’t his fault? Someone managed to give their account of what had happened?

“…” Hershel was speechless. Genuinely speechless. He had been sure that his failure to protect the evidence had ruined the case. That his “accident” had stopped the path of justice. That without him, nobody could have unearthed— 

“See? It’s not your fault.” Clark concluded with a grin. But he could feel the icy bite beneath his eyes. Hershel didn’t know what to make of it. “…You shouldn’t try to shoulder these things on your own. People make mistakes, but you need to trust the world to keep on spinning without you!” 

Hershel laid back on the hospital bed. The great puzzle about the time machine accident. Solved, and all while he was in a coma. He cried, and laughed. Just like Clark had done a few weeks before, when Hershel had first woken up. Truth really is stranger than fiction, isn’t it?


	2. Chapter 2

In six months, many things can happen. It had taken four months for the trail against the rushed time machine experiment to start. It had taken him six months to recover. By the time he was out of the hospital, the media craze about the trail was still going on strong. But for some reason, Hershel didn’t find himself caring too much about what befell Bill Hawks and Dimitri Allen. The truth coming out was good enough to give Claire the justice she deserved. Not to mention, Hershel needed some time away from London. He wasn’t quite ready to throw himself into his new job as an archeology professor, either.

In the end, Brenda had suggested him to come spend a few days with them in their new home in the countryside. Misthallery was a small town, far enough from London for people to forget about it, but big enough to have running water and electricity. He had arrived by bus, with a small suitcase to fit his needs for two weeks. Long enough time to let his mind leave London and all of its worries behind.

He had settled in the guest room, which had a magnificent view of the woods just behind the Triton household— _manor_. This was a true, bonafide manor! The idea of Clark and Brenda, the young couple that had lived in a one-bedroom apartment for over three years, now living it up in such a spacious manse was a little ridiculous.

Perhaps that was why he was so eagerly invited. This house was far too big for such a small family: one could easily and comfortably fit up to ten people in the manor: there were five bedrooms! For now only three bedrooms were being used. The master bedroom with Clark, Brenda and little Luke. The guest room with him and another room for Doland Noble, the old family butler that had been looking after the manor and Clark’s father until he had passed on.

The first order of the day, was breakfast. Whoever woke up first would usually make breakfast that morning. Most of the time, it was Doland. He liked taking his time baking the sourdough bread he had left proofing all night to make some delightful breakfast sandwiches of egg, bacon, lettuce, cheese and tomatoes that were so good, Hershel began to worry how he’d indulge his addiction for them once he’d return to London. However, one time Clark had woken up first, and he had made pancakes with wild blueberries he had picked from the forest that was close to the manor. 

But one fateful morning, he had woken up and found the house quite still. Had he been the one that had woken up first? Hershel wasn’t, unfortunately, a very proficient cook. Yes, he could prevent himself from starving. But there was no way his toast and jam breakfasts could rival Doland’s hearty sandwiches or Clark’s delightful pancakes. But, he was willing to give it a try. He walked downstairs, to the kitchen, when— he heard someone singing. In the kitchen? Had someone else woken up before him?

“Hello?” He called out, knocking on the door before opening it. It wasn’t Doland or Clark. It was Brenda. He then realized that, he had never seen Brenda up early in the morning. She usually came in to have breakfast once it had been laid out on the table, rubbing her groggy eyes. 

“Hershel! Good morning!” She smiled, bright and peppy. She turned her eyes to the table, where a young Luke had been amusing himself at sticking a bright neon chewing toy into his mouth. “Luke? Tell Hershel good morning!”

“Gah ma!” Luke diligently said, before returning to his chewing.

“Isn’t he _adorable_?” Brenda giggled, before turning her attention back to the stove. It seemed that she was boiling some eggs. Above them, on a steamer basket, were a few pieces of white fish, leeks and carrots. “He woke up quite lively today, I think he’s excited to see what kind of solids he’ll be having for breakfast!”

“He is very adorable.” Hershel quickly agreed, sitting next to Luke to keep an eye on him. Luke seemed to largely ignore him, too focused on chewing at his toy.

“Luke is starting to teeth.” Brenda took out the eggs from the pot, placing them in a large bowl filled with cold water. The steaming basket, however, was placed back over the boiling water and covered. “At this rate, I’ll have to take him to the dentist for his first appointment! I’m just grateful that he’s been very calm… Honestly: one day he just woke up with this cute little teeth starting to peek out!”

“Ppfflt.” Luke giggled and stuck his tongue out. It was so hard to believe that before his coma, Luke had been a sleeping little bundle that would sometimes coo and clench and unclench his little fist. Now he seemed to be able to follow along the conversation, though he couldn’t quite master the art of articulating all of his thoughts.

It seemed that Clark and Brenda were quite happy with their life so far. And Luke was really shaping up to be a fine young man. Hershel wanted to be happy for them. But envy snaked its way into his heart. It wasn’t the mansion, the fortune or even the lovely and serene town that made him covet Clark and Brenda’s life. It was their happiness. The strong connection between them, the laughs they shared, the joy of seeing their child grow up… Hershel didn’t know if he could ever find such happiness for himself. He had thought that maybe, he could be together with Claire. What was odd was that, before the incident, he couldn’t quite see himself in the same domestic bliss as Clark and Brenda. He had considered marrying her, yes. But he hadn’t really thought of what he’d want to do after that. Perhaps let each other focus on their promising careers. But in the end… well. It never happened. 

These unnecessary feelings weighed down on him. He was jealous of his friends, who were so kind to include him on their life— who invited him over to get himself back on his feet… He really was a very bad friend, wasn’t he? First Randall and now…

“Hershel?” Brenda’s voice broke him from his self-destructive thoughts. “Is something wrong?”

The concern in her voice was quite genuine and sweet. He reached up, and wiped the tears running down his cheeks. He wanted to say he was fine and cover it up with a smile. But his dark mood wanted him to just let himself mull in his pain for just a little longer. Claire would be so disappointed in him. He really wasn’t a true gentleman, was he?

“Hershel—”

“I miss Claire.”

Understanding shone through Brenda’s eyes. She left the stove, and walked over to him.

After a few seconds of silence, she looked up at him. Tears dancing at her eyes.

“Me too.” Her voice was quiet. Lonely. Raspy with tears. “I… I’ve been having dreams where she’s here, with you and you two look after Luke a-and…”

She swallowed.

“I wake up, and I want to go look in the guest room for her but… then I remember.” She wiped the tears off her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling now. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I— no. It’s nothing.” He didn’t know that Brenda would miss Claire that much. Bringing it up had been the wrong choice, after all. “I’m sorry Brenda. You’re probably busy—”

“I’m not busy if it’s for you!” Brenda insisted, taking his hands and shaking her head. “Hershel, you have to face your feelings someday. Otherwise, they’ll overwhelm you. You shouldn’t be afraid of what you can feel.”

He was at a loss for words. He didn’t know whether a second or a minute had passed, but nonetheless felt quite grateful when Luke made a noise and dropped his chew toy to the floor, taking away Brenda’s concentration from the subject.

Breakfast was soft-boiled eggs with toast and carrots. Clark entertained himself mashing the carrot and the egg into a goopy mess before shoveling that unto a toast. Hershel didn’t have the courage to do something so odd, although Clark’s idea looked quite appetizing, actually.

After breakfast, Hershel tried to avoid Brenda, lest they go back to their rather serious conversation. He wasn’t quite ready to talk about his feelings. After all, he hadn’t really done that for years. Why start now? The only person he had felt mildly comfortable talking about his feelings was Claire. Or at least, it should have been her… but in the end, he couldn’t quite tell her that he had been considering marrying her. And now that she was gone, there was no way that would ever happen. And all of that happiness would surely elude him. He was just so broken, so scared… who could ever look at him as he was, and love him?

“Hey, old bean!”

“Oh, Clark.” He hastily wiped his eyes, just in case tears had gotten the better of him. “How was breakfast? You seemed to be enjoying your toast with the carrot and the egg…”

“Yes! It was just perfect. But I feel guilty that I slept in and let Brenda make breakfast.” Clark smiled, before his expression grew serious once more. “Listen… Hershel, I need to tell you something.”

He honestly hoped that it was Clark the one that would to do the talking, and not him. He was still frazzled after encountering Brenda.

“But let’s retire to the garden, I wouldn’t want to disturb Doland…”

Clark rubbed his temples, but nonetheless he still led him outside. Whatever he was going to say, it was something that he couldn’t bear to have anybody overhear. Or at least, that’s what Hershel thought.

His friend scratched his chin, as if thinking over what he was going to say quite carefully. Hershel simply waited for him to be done with it. He didn’t mind the delay. He took the time to observe the beautiful white flowers growing in the garden. They didn’t look like daisies, but he didn’t know what kind of flower they were. But thinking about flowers started to remind him of a puzzle about a florist that—

“I haven’t had the time to properly talk to you about when you woke up, but I wanted to apologize.” Clark said, sitting next to him and picking a small blade of grass. “I said that since you insisted on having the blame, you could have it. But I shouldn’t have done that. You were… in a very delicate position. And I should have denied that more strongly.”

Hershel couldn’t believe his ears. Clark was apologizing for something that, truly, was no problem. Especially when you consider the comment that Hershel had made when he was still mad with grief. If anything, maybe _he_ should be the one apologizing?

“I want you to know, Hershel… that more than anything I’m quite grateful that you’re alive. And that you’ve come to visit us. We— we all were so distraught when we heard about you. If anything had happened… I don’t know how we would have coped.”

_Losing two friends in very close succession._ The words were left unsaid, but they were quite plainly there in the way his voice lingered in the air.

“Clark—” Hershel said, “I’m sorry for putting myself in danger like that. I—” 

_‘I thought my life was not in danger?’_ No. He was more or less aware of the danger he was in. In fact, now that he thought back on his thought process at the time… it was more along the lines of _‘I thought my life wasn’t worth much’_. 

He shuddered at the thought that had possessed him back then. But what terrified him the most wasn’t at how that previous thought had made him expose himself to such danger, but the fact that he wasn’t sure if he wasn’t thinking that right now. 

What was his life worth now? Was it worth anything? He was growing bitter, resentful… cold. But wasn’t that who he was? If so— why was he opening up to Clark? He had avoided Brenda specifically to not talk about his feelings at all…

“I didn’t consider how much it would affect you and Brenda. I was just…” Trying to find justice. Find something. He couldn’t just let Claire go—not with the way that they tried to erase her.

“You didn’t really think it through, did you?” Clark laughed. However, his eyes still looked tired as he did so. Hershel felt guilty. But what else could he do, apart from apologizing?

“I’m sorry Clark… I promise I won’t do something that reckless without telling anybody about it.”

“Then all’s well that ends well!” Clark seemed to be relieved. He gave him a pat on the shoulder. Hershel felt his stomach turn. Probably from guilt. Clark looked at him in the eye, before turning his eyes away and interlocking his fingers. A nervous habit Hershel had seen many a time before finals.

“…Clark?”

Clark looked up at him.

“Thank you.”

“What for, old bean? I was just worried about you!” Clark joked, giving him a light punch on the arm. Then— a couple of birds began to loudly chirp in the garden. This caught Clark’s attention.

“…Are they saying anything interesting?” Hershel knew that Clark had a _way_ with animals. And sometimes, birds seemed to carry some of the juiciest gossip around. Or so Clark had claimed.

“They’re talking about Luke— or some other small human baby that’s in the vicinity.”

“Is that so?” Hershel wondered why they’d bother talking about a small human child. Luke was vivacious, yes. But surely he wouldn’t affect the birds so much for him to be gossiped about.

“…Oh.” Clark stood up. “I think Luke might…!”

Before he could finish, Clark ran towards the garden. However, Luke seemed to be fine. He was sitting in the shadow of a tree with Doland nearby to keep a watchful eye on the boy. He had no idea why he’d rush to see him—

“Hershel?”

That voice. He turned around to look at her. “Brenda. You just missed Clark!”

“No, no… I didn’t need to talk to Clark.”

He gulped. “Is that so?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

He had an idea why.

“You do know about Clark’s ability with animals, do you?”

That— wasn’t what he had expected. The question caught him off-guard, but he still managed to answer: “I do. He told me after I found him talking to a pigeon.”

“Right…” She crossed her arms, her eyes off to the back garden where Doland, Clark and Luke were. “Do you think it’s genetic?”

“Genetic?”

“Well… never mind. It’s probably nothing.” She sighed, and then turned back to him. “Oh! I just remembered a puzzle! Do you want to give it a try? For old times’ sake?”

“Certainly!” He chuckled. He had trouble talking about is feelings at the moment. But a puzzle? That he could easily answer!

“Alright! So… what’s round and orange?”

He didn’t even _need_ to think it through.

“An orange. Naturally.”

“You’re absolutely correct!” Brenda smiled. “I knew I shouldn’t have been so easy on you! Next time, I promise it’ll be a little harder!”

He felt that giddy rush after solving a puzzle, no matter how small. However, when that sensation passed, he could still feel his stomach turn a little more than usual.

How very odd.


	3. Chapter 3

“Look at my son!” Clark cooed, preparing his camera and waving at Luke. 

The boy looked up from the ground, as if he knew that Clark was talking about him, and waved at him with a bright smile. Clark cheered and snapped several dozen photos. It was a little embarrassing, yet endearing in a really odd way. Hershel tried his best to not chuckle. Since he had so much control over his emotions, the Tritons were none the wiser—

“What’s with that goofy smile, Hershel?” Brenda knelt down next to Luke, who was in the middle of petting a squirel. “Luke! Don’t touch that! It could have fleas!”

“Brenda!” Clark said, without stopping his seemingly endless photo snapping. How come he hadn’t run out of film roll? “Luke is _talking_ to that squirrel! You can’t just tell him to stop!”

“Squeak?” Luke made a few odd noises. But to Hershel, it just sounded like normal baby babble. Had he not known that Clark could actually understand animals, he’d think that Clark was just exaggerating in his fatherly glee.

“I’m so proud of Luke! He’s already babbling his first words!”

Brenda smiled, but then, her expression grew sad. “…I had hoped that his first words would be in English?”

“Oh, don’t worry Brenda! These don’t _really_ count. Now, pose for the camera! This is a great shot!”

Hershel wondered what he’d do once he’d go back to London. Seeing the Tritons was incredibly heartwarming. And— why deny it? Entertaining. He could spend months just watching Luke grow up. His face seemed to light up at the slightest provocation. Whether it was because of his father’s encouragement or at getting some solid foods, giggles came easily to him. Hershel wished he could smile as readily as this boy.

“Now pose, Hershel! This picture will go in the living room!”

“What—?”

Brenda yanked his arm, to pull him inside the frame. “Come on Hershel! This will be great!”

“Master?” Doland asked, with the timeliness only a butler could ever have “Would you like me to take the picture?”

“Capital idea, Doland!” Clark said, handing the camera over and running over to Luke’s side and giving a thumbs up. “How is that? Are we in frame?”

“Hm… Master Layton, please do get closer in.”

Hershel awkwardly shifted in closer. He didn’t want to sit right on top of either Clark or Brenda. But as the cameraman insisted, he found himself almost pressing his shoulders against Brenda. Luke, on the other hand, busied himself by petting the squirrel unaware of the commotion the adults were making.

“There we go—” Doland said preparing the camera.

“Say squeak!” Clark said with a large smile. 

“Squeak?”

“Squeak!”

The film roll then ran out of shots after that one picture, so Doland went immediately to the town to get the film developed, taking Luke with him. Apparently, Clark’s father was a huge fan of photography and Doland was a regular face around town, running his film errands every couple of weeks.

“Say, Clark: where are these old family pictures that your father took of the town?” Hershel asked.

“Um—” Clark scratched his chin “Well…”

“Clark’s father was an amateur photographer!” Brenda answered for him. “He was quite passionate, but his skill left much to be desired. We do have one of the better pictures on display in the parlor. Or… was it the living room?”

“I think it was the parlor, yes” Clark mused. “The manor is so large, it’s a little hard to remember all the rooms.”

“Oh! Clark, I just got a _wonderful_ idea!”

“Brenda, we already said that we are _not_ going to make a room just for your snow globe collection—”

“No silly! Let’s go exploring! We could make a map of the manor!”

Clark pondered the idea. But, knowing him, he’d most definitely end up agreeing.

“Hershel! You can come along! It’ll be fun!”

“Er, well I…” He had been so entertained, watching Clark and Brenda banter, that he didn’t know what to do now that he had, once again, been thrust into the limelight. “…Sure, why not?”

A true gentleman helps his friends, and surely Claire would have liked to take a grand tour of the Triton’s new house…

“Let’s start with the entrance,” Clark said. “I’ve got a notebook here. We can get the floor plan down.”

“This is so exciting!” Brenda giggled, and she linked her arm with Clark’s. “We never did get a chance to explore the manor properly, I can’t believe it took us this long!”

Hershel merely smiled as he followed his dear friends to the entrance. They seemed to be quite lively. Almost as if none of the horrible events had even happened just half a year ago. The chill of winter had melted away, and in its stead, the warm lull of summer covered everything. He vaguely remembered of spending boring summer days in a house quite similar to this one, though he was sure that the London townhouse the Laytons had was nothing like the spacious Triton Manor. He was probably misremembering things.

“So this is the foyer.” Clark drew a square at the bottom of the paper. “We have the stairs right in front of us leading to the second floor, a hallway to the right, a door to the left and a hallway to the left. Which do we start with?”

“Let’s go through that little door! I’ve never gone in there…” Brenda turned to look at Clark “Do we have the keys?” 

“Right here,” Clark said, taking out a key ring filled with many keys, “let’s give it a go.”

They had to try almost all the keys in the ring to actually get the right one for this particular door. But once they did, what they saw behind that door made them all gasp in surprise.

“My word—” Hershel said, looking at the cellar filled with bottles upon bottles of wine.

“So this is what the will meant by the ‘vast fine wine collection’…” Clark mused. 

Brenda, on the other hand, immediately went to look at some of the bottles in storage. “Oh! Look! This wine is almost twenty years old! I didn’t know your father was a wine enthusiast, Clark!”

“At least you have enough reserves to pop open a bottle of wine when the occasion calls for it, right Clark?” Hershel asked with a coy smile.

“Is it me, or is this place quite cold?” Clark asked, looking up to the ceiling. This prompted Hershel and Brenda to mimic him. Above them was a limestone ceiling. But now that they were quiet, they could just barely hear—

“We’re below the pond.” Brenda observed. “I’ve heard of building underneath bodies of water to make colder rooms.”

“Which would make sense for a wine cellar.” It was quite cool in here. Hershel wouldn’t mind taking refuge in the wine cellar from the humid Misthallery summer from time to time. Maybe with some wine, too.

“Or a storage room! I think I know where we can go from here!” Clark marched on, past crates upon crates of wine. Soon, he reached a heavy wooden door and took out his keys to open it. On the other side, was a large room filled with sundries, spices and other such ingredients. The kitchen storage room.

Hershel helped Brenda up the steep stairs, as Clark was busy jotting down the underground plan. Her hands were a little cold, but they were quite dainty and thin. 

Soon enough, the three of them found themselves in the kitchen. A familiar place. However, for the sake of completion, Clark still drew it on his makeshift map. To the right of the kitchen entrance were two rooms. Bedrooms for the staff, it’d seem. One of the rooms was devoid of furniture, and it had a window facing towards the same view Hershel could see from his guest room upstairs. It was quite bright, though the white-washed walls might have helped make the room appear to be bigger than it was. The other room was Doland’s bedroom. The three of them decided to not look too much into Doland’s room, to respect his privacy. 

After the two bedrooms, there was a bathroom with a tin bathtub. Quite simple. Most likely, a bathroom for the staff. However, Hershel quite liked the simplicity of the distribution. The staff wouldn’t need to go up any stairs to go to sleep. In his opinion, the lower bedrooms might go over well with his Ma and Pa, the latter who had a bad knee and didn’t favor stairs… if he could first get up the flight up stairs leading to the manor. 

The hallway ended after the bathroom, so they turned around and went back to face the kitchen and turning on to a corridor that would eventually lead back to the foyer. Before that, however, the hall had many rooms. Amongst them, a living room where Clark’s father’s photographs were kept in.

“I love the composition of this picture.” Hershel said, pointing to a picture where the fog surrounded the image, safe for a large tower and a lake. “It feels so open.”

“I think so too! I almost feel like I’m outdoors when I look at this picture!” Clark’s smile was radiant. “I know this lake. It’s next to Evan Barde’s estate. I could maybe ask him to let us pass through and take a look at it. It’s quite close to the excavation site.”

“We could tell him it’s for the excavation!” For some reason, Brenda didn’t sound her usual, cheery self. In fact, she seemed to be annoyed. Did she dislike Mr. Barde? That was… uncharacteristic of her. What did the man do to annoy her? Hershel observed her, trying to deduce what was wrong… “He’s always going on and on about the excavation… if you tell him it’s to find the ruins, I’m sure he’d even give us the honor to sleep on his carpet!”

“Brenda—” Clark seemed to be troubled. He seemed to actually get well with this Mr. Barde.

“He’s a complete fop!” Brenda said, with little mercy for Mr. Barde. “He might own the land Misthallery is built on, and he might rig the elections so that he and his family always end up running for mayor. But that doesn’t mean he has the right to charge rent to everybody like some sort of feudal lord!”

“Is this rent quite high?” Hershel asked, his interest piqued by Brenda’s passion for Misthallery’s current state of affairs.

“We don’t pay rent.” Clark sighed. He sat down on one of the leather sofas. “We have the land ownership for the manor and the land surrounding it: we’re technically not _in_ Misthallery. But Brenda sometimes goes to buy cakes from the market, and the people there do have to pay the rent. It didn’t really matter when the steam car factory was working, since that belonged to Evan as well, so he’d simply deduct the rent from the worker’s salaries for their families. However…”

“Barde then had the audacity to close down the factory!” Brenda concluded. “And to add insult to injury, he still demanded rent! It’s awful, so many men have lost their jobs… I can understand him having to shut down the factory, but at the very least he should have been more understanding of the strain he’d place on the people living in the market area…”

It seemed that even in the serene-looking Misthallery, politics could get quite complicated. Hershel wasn’t planning on staying there, but it didn’t seem very nice of Barde to act the way he did. Was there some sort of underlying reason to do that, other than greed? His brain began to hum, as he could feel that there was something deeper concealed within this seemingly superficial issue. But what? The picture had a tower. If so, this tower was close to Barde’s estate, and it actually looked old. From the Tudor era, if not medieval. So these holdings must be quite old, and Barde probably felt that it was natural for him to demand this rent from the townsfolk. Could it be that this was part of the long-term fallout from the Enclosure Acts that took common land from the people and make it belong to individuals and as such—?

“Hershel?” Clark’s voice broke him from his lull. “Are you alright, old bean?”

“I’m—”

He blinked. Clark’s face was quite close to his. Hershel was looking straight into Clark’s eyes. Hershel’s stomach twisted into a knot. He had felt this before. Yesterday and earlier today. He had thought it had simply been nerves, or from eating brunch too quickly. But this time, he recognized that sensation. These were definitely nerves. But they were not your normal, everyday anxiety nerves. He had only ever felt this specific flutter with—

“I-I think I need to rest up.”

He didn’t even bother to offer a better explanation, or turn around to look at his friends flabbergasted expressions as he ditched them. He knew, that if he turned around, he’d hate himself even more by looking at their worried faces. 

He rushed down the hallway, into the foyer and up the stairs. He didn’t look back, and he honestly hoped that nobody was following him… After going up the stairs, he ran down the hallway, and entered the guest room. His breaths were a mix of exhaustion and sobbing. His hands fumbled with the doorknob until he could lock it. His biggest comfort, was that his room didn’t have any mirrors. Otherwise, he’d be tempted to hit the pathetic fool he’d see on the reflection. What was wrong with him? Did the coma make his brain confuse the feelings he should hold for friends? Or was it just the severe loneliness? 

Or— was it possible that he was genuinely developing a crush on his friend?

No, no. That wasn’t possible. He just cared for Clark as much as he did with Brenda. They were friends. He was just… exhausted. He had just felt as if his heart was racing because he was surprised. That had to be it…

His hand reached up to touch the brim of the top hat Claire had given him. When he thought back to Claire, he could still feel his heart swell with happiness. Said happiness, however, still left a bitter taste. He wanted to hold her in his arms. Kiss her, love her. But he couldn’t. She was dead. The memories he had of her, however, were a comfort that still helped him ease the loneliness that threatened to drown him.

He still loved her. God, he loved her so much.

Clark and Brenda’s presence seemed to work like balm that soothed the raw pain in his chest. Such is the power of friendship. Yes. He knew… he knew that they were just being friends with him. Friendships were great. But seeing Clark’s face so close to his— why did he suddenly feel compelled to _kiss_ him? He fortunately got out before his impulses for the better of him. He couldn’t do that to Brenda— he couldn’t do that to Clark. They cared for each other, and he wasn’t interested in putting a wedge in their relationship. Especially now, that they had a child. 

“Why am I doing this?” He asked himself, looking at the wooden beams above. “You’re just making them worry.”

He couldn’t keep on acting like a child. He had to be a gentleman. Claire would have wanted it so. Even if he just wanted to mull and cry and never face the world… He had to. For her. Just like he had become an archeologist for Randall. Tears were running down his eyes. His heart ached. But he wasn’t going to openly cry and sob. He was _not_. 

With these thoughts, he slipped into a dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Three quick, sharp knocks. And then, an envelope was slipped underneath his door. Hershel crawled to the edge of his bed, squinting through the twilight and seeing that the letter was addressed to “Hershel”. He dreaded reading the contents. In fact, he was tempted to just leave the letter there and worry about it tomorrow. 

But he couldn’t.

He dove for the letter, and ripped it open (quite the ungentlemanly sight). Inside, there was a handwritten letter. But the light was so poor, he couldn’t make out the words. Hershel went to turn on the nightstand, to take a closer look at this mysterious letter.

His heart skipped a beat. This was Brenda’s handwriting. He held onto the letter tightly, eyes scanning through the words on it.

_Dear Hershel,_

_I hope you have rested up well. Clark and I finished the map of the manor. It’s a little amateurish, but you can see it on the other side of this paper. If you still feel ill, please don’t hesitate to tell us. We could call the village doctor to look at you, or take you back to London to have a doctor from there look at you. Doland and Luke came back with the photos. Clark and I haven’t decided where to put the photo of all of us together. Where would you like us to put it? I personally think that the second drawing room upstairs would be best! It’s the one with the huge windows and the balcony facing the forest. Clark, however, thinks that the library would be better suited for that since he thinks it’s cozy. We’ll leave the tie-breaking vote to you. But the main reason why I’m writing this letter is not only to check up on you but to ask if you’re hungry. Doland made potatoes with veal. If you are hungry, please answer this letter and we can bring the food into your room. If not, feel free to ignore this letter and rest up some more!_

_Please take good care of yourself,_

_Brenda_

He could plainly read her worry through the words in her letter. And yet, despite the worry, there was also great care, too. Now that his nerves weren’t closing up his stomach, he felt he could face his friends. Also, he was hungry. Hershel took the torn envelope he had discarded in his haste and placed it on his desk. There would be no need to send a letter back. He would join them for supper.

Hershel walked down the stairs, using the newly-made map to help guide himself to the dining room. But he really didn’t need to use the map. He knew the walk from his bedroom to the dining room well by now. He heard voices as soon as he entered the hall to the dining room.

“—answered yet?” Clark’s voice was somewhat muffled.

“I’ll go look for his answer after serving young master Luke.” Doland answered.

They were just behind these doors. He could easily knock now. Get inside. Enjoy some veal with potatoes.

“Clark, do you think we did something wrong?” Brenda asked. From the way her voice sounded; Hershel could see her in his mind’s eye. She was frowning. Hershel… couldn’t enter right now. It’d be too uncomfortable for them. Just let them get on to another subject and he could enter smoothly.

“No, Brenda. Hershel needs time.” Clark tried to reassure her. “I am sure he’s not angry at either of us.”

“I know he needs time, _I know_ …” Brenda sighed. 

“Brenda—”

“Clark—”

The couple took a moment to giggle for speaking up at the exact same moment. However, said giggles died out quickly.

“You go first, Clark.” Brenda said, but Clark was quick to answer.

“No, no. You go first. I wasn’t going to say anything interesting.”

“Well…” She was hesitating, but nonetheless continued. “Having Hershel here, it’s been a wonderful experience! He really livens up this old manor. I’m glad we invited him here! But sometimes I…”

Hershel held his breath. Sometimes she… what? Was annoyed by his brooding? Found him to be a bore? Thought he was overstaying his welcome?

“—Brenda, is this about the dream?”

If Brenda answered, it must have been by either nodding or shaking her head. Hershel couldn’t hear her. He pressed his ear to the door, trying to work out what the Tritons were talking about behind his back. What dream were they talking about?

“Have you told him yet?” Clark finally asked.

“N-no, I haven’t… not completely” Brenda’s voice was strained with tears. “I don’t want to seem like I’m… disrespecting Claire.”

“Brenda…”

“She’d be so disappointed.”

Her words reverberated with the self-destructive thoughts he’d harbor when left alone for too long. Hershel had known just how deeply Clark had cared for Claire. But he hadn’t really thought how much her death had also affected Brenda.

That’s right. The other day, didn’t she told him that she had a dream where all four of them were in this house? She didn’t say much else. What was the part that she held back from him? The part that she was so sure that Claire would be disappointed by?

“Brenda, I can’t say I could fully know what Claire would think, but I’m certain that—”

“Master, I’ll go look for Master Layton’s reply.” Doland said, his voice close to the door. 

In that instant, Hershel bolted back into his room. He locked the door and he prayed that Doland hadn’t seen him make a mad dash through the halls. He had been lucky in avoiding the creaky staircase, so he might’ve had a chance… right?

Three knocks. Hershel jumped.

“Master Layton?”

He had to answer. He had to— 

To what? Tell him he was here? Go see his friends? The people that had so kindly taken him in when he was at the lowest point of his life, and that he had only responded to their kindness by making them worry for him? He had made Clark cry. He had made Brenda think she had done something to offend him. He didn’t deserve their kindness. He didn’t deserve their friendship. What he deserved, was to starve.

He didn’t answer. Hershel looked at the door and remained immobile.

A true gentleman wouldn’t hurt those he cared for. If he truly was developing feelings for his friends— which he wasn’t, but _if_ he was— then he’d do the thing that would make them most happy, even at his own expense. Love is not triumphant, nor does it conquer all. But if it is one thing, it’s selfless.

Despite his growling tummy, Hershel laid back on the bed and tried to think of ways to make up for his selfishness to his dear friends.

That night, he dreamt an odd dream.

It started with morning bird songs, and a sound that was sweeter than that.

“Hershel?” Claire was there. The sun was catching on her hair, making it look like curly strands of copper. In her arms was a baby—Luke. “I’ll go take Luke for a walk around town.”

“Let me accompany you,” he offered, starting to take a step towards her.

“No, we’ll be fine. Won’t we, Luke?”

“Muuh?” Luke babbled.

“Hershel! Claire!” running up to them, was Clark. He was wearing his archeology dig clothes: overalls and a rather silly straw hat. “Are you two going to sneak off with my son again?”

“Oh, he’s not just _your_ son, Clark!” Claire teased. She then turned to Hershel. His heart skipped a beat. “How about this? I’ll leave you Hershel, and you two can spend some quality time together. How does that sound?”

“Quality time?” Hershel asked. The next thing he knew, Clark had wrapped his hands around his waist from behind him. Hershel could feel Clark’s body right next to him, and he felt queasy. But also happy.

“I _suppose_ ….” Clark pouted at Claire, clearly in jest, before turning to glance at Hershel with a smirk. “What do you say, Hershel? Do you want to stay with me?”

“I-I…” Hershel stammered. Clark was just so close. Too close. He turned around to face him. He might not have calculated right. Or perhaps it had been on purpose. But he found himself locking lips with Clark. He kissed differently from Claire. First of all: the nose. It was larger than Claire’s. But he found a way around it, literally, by kissing him at a certain angle. Then, the beard. It was weird feeling it brush against him. And thirdly— his _scent_. Is this what you’d call “musky”?

“I’ll leave you two to it, then!” Claire smiled, and Hershel saw her walk off with Luke in the corner of his eye. Her red curls bouncing this way and that with every step she took.

Clark broke the kiss, and he smiled.

His smile was so charming— yet vexing. Hershel didn’t know whether he wanted to slap him or just kiss him again.

Before he could decide, he heard singing. Almost like the vision of a picture book; Brenda had several birds, squirrels and other such critters gathering around her as if they were listening to her. Clark gave Hershel a nudge.

“This is the best part.” He whispered against his ear. “Listen.”

And listen he did. Brenda’s voice was clear and the simple melody made the lyrics easy to understand.

_“The birds chirp their love song,_

_for loves to come along._

_They sing of warm summers_

_and all sunset’s colors._

_My thoughts run like a stream_

_in this ideal dream._

_I’ve buried for so long_

_these deep feelings, so strong._

_A daft song for others,_

_is my hymn for lovers._

_To see in eyes that gleam,_

_A song to show esteem”_

She stopped singing as her eyes landed on him. With a big smile, she ran and leaped into his arms. He spun her around and danced with her, joining in on her laughter. By now, he didn’t question why would Brenda even run to him, rather than Clark. He had been standing right next to him. Hershel just let himself get carried away—

“I love you!” he said to the giggling woman in his arms.

“I love you too!” Brenda said with a big smile, and she snuggled up to him. 

Hershel suddenly grew quite aware of _her_. She was quite different from Claire and Clark. She was smaller, yet when he picked her up, she definitely didn’t feel as light as a feather, like Claire. Her nose was tiny, and her brown eyes shone with her inner joy. Hershel could just stare at her eyes for hours.

“Alright, everybody! Move along.” Hershel heard Clark say to the animals that, apparently, had been staring at them. “Thank you for waiting for my signal.”

“Signal?” Hershel asked, raising an eyebrow at Brenda.

“Clark told them to gather around and look at me” she said with a giggle. “Isn’t it romantic?”

“Romantic is—” Before he could finish that thought, he remembered something that caught his attention. “Brenda, that song.”

“Yes?” She smiled, looking into his eyes with a dreamy expression.

“Isn’t that the song you were singing the other day when I saw you in the kitchen?”

“…” Brenda’s smile fell. Her eyes grew wide. “ _Hershel_? Is that you?”

Right then, the dream popped like a soap bubble. He woke up, covered in a sheen of sweat. Despite the window being open, there was no breeze, and the night air was stifling.

He knew where to go. Hershel took his pillow and blanket. He walked down the stairs to a certain wine cellar. By the time he felt the comforting chill, he had almost forgotten the details of his dream. Now he could just sleep some more…

“I should let Clark and Brenda have some time with each other.” He mused out-loud, eyelids drooping. “Let them be together…”

He could barely remember why he had felt some sort of urgency for both of them to be together specifically, rather than with him by the time he fell asleep. The chilly wine cellar helped him sleep at a comfortable temperature, so much so that he only woke up when the grumbling of his stomach was just too much to bear.

He dragged himself up and walked to the kitchen. It was then that he remembered the unspoken rule when it came to breakfast at the Triton’s. The irst one to rise would make breakfast. It was early. Would he have to make breakfast today?

As a matter of fact, no. Doland was up. Unfortunately, he hadn’t expected Layton to just appear from the kitchen storage area.

“M-Master Layton?” The poor butler almost jumped in shock. “Were you hungry?”

“Hm…” Hershel blinked through his exhaustion. “I am, but I assure you, I haven’t pilfered anything.”

“Very well, Master Layton.” Doland pushed up his glasses, “Breakfast will soon be served. The Master and Mistress will be most glad to see you. They were quite worried about your health.”

“Clark and Brenda—are they together, right now?”

“I can’t know for certain, master Layton.”

Hershel nodded, and left the kitchen to stop interrupting Doland’s cooking. If Clark and Brenda were together in the dining room, then he didn’t want to disturb them. He needed to let them be together and have time for each other. He really shouldn’t interfere. After all, he’d be leaving this manor soon. Go back to London. Live alone. Drink oversteeped, bitter tea he had forgotten he had prepared but couldn’t just throw out. And maybe, someday, clean his home.

“Hershel!” 

He felt a jolt run down his spine. He turned his head, and saw that Brenda was fast approaching him.

“Hershel, I’m so glad to see you! I need to—”

“Brenda! I just got a capital idea!” He interrupted her before she could even finish. His rudeness would surely disappoint Claire. But this was for the integrity of Clark and Brenda’s marriage. He couldn’t keep sticking himself where he wasn’t wanted. “How about, after breakfast, I go take out Luke for a walk? And Doland can come along!”

“A walk—?” Brenda blinked “Well, maybe Clark and I can—“

“Spend some time together? That’d be lovely!” He smiled and reached for his top—

Oh.

He had left his top hat in his bedroom.

“Hershel, we can later plan this out. But please listen: I really need to ask you about last night—”

“I’m sorry, Brenda.” He said, as he side-stepped her and walked backwards as quickly as he could. “I must go get properly dressed. I don’t even have my top hat!”

He didn’t notice Clark, who was also carrying Luke.

“Hershel? Did you sleepwalk?” Clark asked. Luke turned to look at him, but then went back to trying to grab his father’s beard with his tiny hands. “You look exhausted.”

“Did you have a weird dream?” Brenda asked. 

But instead of answering either of them, he simply turned around and ran up the stairs. Once he’d be well-dressed, he could face them. He needed to get dressed. He needed his top hat.

He lingered in his bedroom until his stomach simply couldn’t handle it anymore, and then he went down the stairs to the dinning room. He had been hoping that Clark and Brenda would have already left. They didn’t. In fact, they were still sitting there, drinking tea. Luke was chewing on his little fist, babbling occasionally. Clark was the first to notice him, and smiled.

“Hershel! There you are! I was sure you had fallen asleep. Doland, could you please bring Hershel his breakfast? Brenda and I took the liberty of starting without you.”

“We’re so sorry, Hershel.” Brenda said. “We were just too hungry! And Luke was getting angsty about not having his breakfast yet.”

Luke cooed, as if recognizing his name in that sentence.

“No, it’s fine. I lost track of time when getting dressed.” He said, now reaching up to his top hat and tilting it towards his friends.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about that.” Clark said, before glancing at Brenda. “How did you end up downstairs in your pajamas?”

“Well—” Unbidden, the memories of his dream came back to him. Clark’s smile. Brenda’s singing. He bowed his head. “It was far too warm in my bedroom. So I went to the wine cellar to rest up.”

“Oh—!” Brenda exclaimed. “That’s actually a very good idea!” 

“You know, Brenda?” Clark mused as he stroked his beard. “Maybe we should also sleep in the cellar with Luke. He does get quite fussy when he’s not comfortable, and the heat has been a little too much.”

“Maybe we should all have a sleepover in the cellar!” Brenda said, clasping her hands together. “That would be lovely, don’t you think?”

Luke giggled and also clapped his hands, imitating his mother’s gesture. 

“My chambers are quite comfortable at night,” Doland said, placing a dish in front of Hershel. It was a succulent breakfast sandwich, filled to the brim with tomatoes. “However, I can arrange to move the mattresses and the crib downstairs.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Layton said, as soon as he realized that he might end up in the same small space as the Tritons at night. “You two and Luke go sleep in the cellar. I can stand the heat.”

“Nonsense, old bean!” Clark’s smile was radiant. Hershel felt his heart swell with joy, seeing that such a smile was directed at _him_.

“It’s _your_ idea, and you should be allowed to enjoy it!” Brenda agreed. Her sweet eyes were like pools of honey. He just couldn’t look away from her…

But he had to. He had to look away from his friends. All of these feelings. They were… wrong. He couldn’t sleep the night with them in the same room as him. He’d most likely die.

“I’m sorry.” He said, bowing his head. He would have maybe turned away the sandwich, but really, at this point he just couldn’t hold back anymore. He began to eat his breakfast. The slightly tangy taste of the sourdough bread mixed with the eggs and tomatoes was… sublime. He almost felt as if he could just open up to his friends and share his own odd dream just now and maybe laugh at how silly he was. Almost.

Brenda and Clark didn’t insist on having him sleep over. However, they were curious about his outburst the other day.

“How do you feel? Last night you couldn’t stay around long enough to finish the map!”

“I’m sorry, Clark.” Hershel avoided looking at him, instead he focused on a point that was off to the left. “I was just tired.”

“Poor Hershel, you slept right through dinner last night!” Brenda said.

He hadn’t really slept through dinner. In fact, Hershel had heard part of the conversation that she and Clark had behind his back. He would have wanted nothing more than to ask about it. But, this wasn’t some kind of puzzle or mystery to be solved. Sometimes, you can’t always know.

“Did you like it?” Clark asked, motioning with his head at the now-empty plate.

“Excellent as always! I’ll miss Doland’s cooking when I go back to London.”

“We can always drop by and visit now and then!” Clark turned to look at his wife. “Right, Brenda?”

“Yes! It’d be nice!”

“See? It’s decided.” Clark said with a smirk. “However! You must clean up your house. Baby-proof it. Or at least child-proof it.”

“Waf!” Luke drummed his hands on his high seat.

“Oh, I think Luke is starting to get restless.” Clark stood up to look at the excitable child.

“Clark,” Brenda said. “Maybe we should take Luke out for a walk? Hershel suggested we should take him out—”

“Actually! I wanted to take Luke outside for a bit and you two could spend some time together.”

Brenda turned to look at Clark, her eyes as wide as they could go.

“…Do you mean that?” Clark asked, looking twice as surprised as Brenda.

“Of course!” Hershel was quick to answer. “If I need any help, I could ask Doland.”

“Master Layton really honors me with his trust.” The butler said, with impeccable timing. “I shall go get the young master Luke’s summer hat.”

Doland then went off, but not before taking Layton’s empty plate to the kitchen. 

“Hershel?” Brenda asked, Her voice was small. “I… I need to tell you something.”

Could it be? Was this about the dream he had overheard the other night? Brenda was clenching her fists, her eyes going back and forth between Clark and Hershel. She was hesitating.

“I…” after her long hesitation, she blurted out. “I wanted to thank you for coming here!”

In the end, she hadn’t told him about the dream. But Hershel couldn’t point that out. Poor Brenda was suffering enough as-is.

“It’s my pleasure. To be honest, being away from London really has helped me. If I had been left alone, I might’ve… dwelled more on the past.”

He _had_ been spending most of his time here in Misthallery agonizing over Claire. But surely, if he had been left alone he might be worse. Or… was it possible that Clark and Brenda’s presence only made things harder on him? His dream last night didn’t mean anything. It was just his mind playing tricks on him. So why did he feel so happy to think back to the way he had held his friends in that dream?

“So, I’ll go take Luke for a walk now.” He said, standing up and taking the infant from Clark’s arms.

“Heu?” Luke babbled looking up at him. Then, he stretched out his tiny hands up, up, up. Most likely, to try to reach his top hat. “Wabab!”

“Yes, Luke. A walk.” He said, poking the boy right on his adorable little nose.

Luke simply giggled.

“Just make sure to use the sling!” Brenda warned. “The cobbled stones here would ruin a stroller!”

“And Luke is too curious to just sit there and get strolled around, too” Clark added.

“Babababa….” Luke drooled over his little fist.

“Oh, I think he wants his little teething ring!” Brenda went to the door, “I think that it should still be in the refrigerator—Doland! You gave me quite a start!”

Hershel turned around. Sure enough, Doland was standing on the doorway. And he had with him a small straw hat, a sling and a giant bag filled to the brim with… stuff.

“Apologies, Mistress.” The butler set down the giant bag and took out a small bottle of sunscreen that he then began to smear all over Luke’s skin. “Master Layton, I will now put the sling on you, if you do not mind.”

“Oh no, go on ahead.” Hershel said, watching Doland fit the carrier around him and fitting Luke in it so he could be facing forward. Luke let out a delighted coo. It seemed that he knew what getting into the carrier meant by now. 

“Doland, do you have Luke’s teething ring?”

The butler immediately picked out the bright neon chew toy and gave it to Luke. Luke let out another delighted squee and stuffed as much of the toy as he could into his mouth.

“Look at you, Hershel! You really look like a dad now!” Clark laughed. “Oh wait, I _must_ get a picture of this!”

“Clark—” Hershel tried stopping Clark, but he had dashed out of the dining room.

“You look very handsome, Hershel!” Brenda said.

He felt his cheeks grow warm. “Do you really think so?”

“Of course I do! Now take good care of Luke, alright?” Brenda kissed the boy’s forehead and placed the straw hat over his head.

“I promise you that nothing will harm him!” And if something were to ever happen to Luke, Hershel would never be able to forgive himself.

The next thing he knew, he saw a flash of light. Confused, he turned around to the door and saw that Clark had just taken a picture.

“Excellent job, Brenda! You kept him right in place!”

“That wasn’t my original plan, but— I suppose I did!”

“It’s… I don’t look ridiculous, do I?” Suddenly, Hershel realized that he not only was carrying an infant but that he had a ridiculously tall top hat, too. He was going to get the attention of the people around town. Fortunately, he wasn’t going to stay in Misthallery for too long.

“No! You don’t.” Clark was very bad at lying. Hershel now knew that he must’ve been quite the sight to behold.

“A true gentleman…” Hershel murmured, trying to find the motivation to go through with this embarrassing charade. 

“Always keeps his promises!” Clark concluded, patting him on the back. “Now run along. We’ll do our best to not fret over Luke.”

“It might be hard, though,” Brenda admitted. “But at least Doland is with him…”

Hershel waved goodbye to his friends, hoping that they would actually get some nice quality time together. And spending some time away from them might benefit him, too. He followed Doland outside and realized that perhaps he should have taken off his jacket before putting Luke on. He considered just jumping into the front pond where some pet fish swam around lazily but decided against it. He had to look after Luke.

“Would Master Layton like to take a walk through the woods or through the town?”

“The woods. Please.” That way, he won’t be embarrassed by seeing another person looking at him. 

Doland nodded, and began to walk towards the back of the Triton estate. The shade of the trees offered some comfort, though the humidity was quite terrible everywhere in this small town.

“Master Layton.” Doland suddenly said, “Have you enjoyed your time with us?”

“Of course I have! Being here has really… cleared my mind.”

It… probably hadn’t. But there was no way he’d discuss this with anybody. Let alone someone that could easily report back to Clark and Brenda. 

“Master Layton, please forgive my intrusion, but I do worry for your health.”

Hershel furrowed his brows. He took a deep breath. “What do you mean?”

Luke shook his head and made a small groan.

“I simply mean what I meant, Master Layton. You have been quite distracted today. I’d say you’re almost sluggish.”

“Sluggish? I suppose I haven’t been using my mettle as much as I should!” He chuckled awkwardly, hoping that the distraction would work. “Why don’t you give me a puzzle? I’ll solve it in no time at all!”

“A… puzzle?” Doland asked. “Very well, if it pleases the Master. What flies without wings and cries without eyes?”

“Hm…” He mused. “Clouds.”

“Indeed.” Doland said. “Now beware this small branch here. It has thorns.”

“Of course,” Hershel said, ducking out of the way. “Where are we going?”

“To the lake. Master Clark does enjoy to go fishing there. It’s quite beautiful.”

“Dawa dee” Luke babbled, and stuck the chew toy into his mouth some more. 

“Aren’t you a lucky one, Luke? I grew up in London, before moving to Stansbury. I lived really far from the parks, too.”

Luke cooed, and then— dropped the toy. The next second, the child was grunting, trying to reach it. Hershel bent down and picked up the toy. It was wet and covered in dirt. 

“Mueeeeh?” Luke asked, trying to reach the toy.

“No, Luke. This is dirty.” He held out the toy away from the baby. Luke didn’t appreciate that. It wasn’t before long that the boy began to wail loudly. For such a small baby, he could sure scream! Hershel’s head started hurting. “Doland, please tell me you have another chew toy with you!”

“I’m afraid not, but I do have his teddy bear.”

“Please! Give me the bear!”

Doland took the dirty chew toy from Hershel, and replaced it with the soft toy. He held it close to Luke’s face.

“Look! It’s your teddy bear, Luke! You love your teddy bear, don’t you?”

Luke reached out to the toy, and pulled. Hershel made sure to not drop it. If it fell, he didn’t know what he’d do. Keeping a hand on the toy, he let Luke chew on it. For now, the crisis had been averted. He wondered if Brenda or Clark would yell at him for letting the toy slip. Their disapproval would be devastating to him.


	5. Chapter 5

He couldn’t stay. He shouldn’t stay. Even if he wanted to. He just… He had hoped that the emotions ruminating beneath the surface would simply go away if he ignored them hard enough. But as he laid there in his bed, covered in sticky sweat, it dawned on him that inaction wasn’t helping him. Hershel knew that if he just got up and walked towards the cellar, he could join Clark, Brenda, and Luke in the relatively cool wine cellar. And yet, that was the thing: he’d be in the same room as Brenda and Clark. Had he thought of going downstairs before having his odd dream, he might’ve gone for it. But alas, like one can’t un-solve a solved riddle; he couldn’t even fathom what he’d do in front of his friends if he let his guard down. Staying on guard all day had been exhausting, but possible. Staying on guard even at nighttime would be impossible.

Hershel sighed. Looking after Luke had been a refreshing experience. Luke was a very sweet child, though he was at that age where he wanted to take a bite out of anything and everything. Looking after him and making sure that he stayed safe was entertaining. The lake at Highyard Hill was absolutely breathtaking, too.

But now just when he returned to Clark and Brenda, his feelings once again took a hold of him, like a vise. He had been giddy, and alive with joy to see them again. But he shouldn’t be. He had only ever felt like that with Claire. Nobody else should have such an effect on him. It was… fondness? Attachment? Desperation? He didn’t know. But whatever these feelings were, as long as he was in the proximity of his friends, they would forever haunt him. And while he felt so high on joy at the time, the grueling guilt dragged him back to a deeper low. It was exhausting. But what could he do? He wanted to be with them, he enjoyed being with them…

 _I should leave_ , a small thought popped up in his mind. _Take everything, and just go back to London. I’ve been on a sabbatical for too long, and I haven’t even worked a single day yet. It’s been six months. I should go present myself there before the next semester begins._

That was true. He really should let Dean Delmona that he was still interested in the position. But he had been planning on doing that after his two weeks in Misthallery would be over. But if he stayed, then who knew what he might end up doing once his feelings were beyond his control. If he did something reckless—

_They would hate me._

Yes, they would. Brenda and Clark had been kind enough to ignore most of his odd behaviors. They had been patient with him. But even they had a limit, and Hershel felt he sometimes was stepping right on that line.

Just then, he heard the constant patter of the rain falling on the old manors tiles, and his window shook with the wind. He got up, and went to close the shutters to keep the rain out— and that thought came back to him with a little more insistence.

_I should leave._

But right now? In the middle of the night? The bus wasn’t going to pass at this hour. It was raining, too. Hershel closed the shutters, and with it, he blocked the moonlight entering his room. He fumbled back to his bed, using his hands to try to get back to it without toppling over anything. He wondered what time it was. It must have been well past midnight. Perhaps two or three in the morning? Hershel laid on his bed, looking up at the ceiling that rang with droplets of rain. He should leave, yes. But tomorrow. At a better time.

“But that would make them sad,” he said to the ceiling. “I can’t leave right away…”

_But I have to._

He really couldn’t bear being in this house any longer. Misthallery was beautiful and picturesque and almost like a vision of a fairytale. But the life here wasn’t meant for him. His life just wasn’t meant for happiness. He had lived a lonely childhood in London. He might have had friends, but he couldn’t quite recall their faces anymore. When he moved to Stansbury, he had found many friends. And then, Randall…Hershel didn’t know whether the sinking feeling he had just then was guilt or anger at Randall for being so reckless. Without Randall, everything fell apart. Hershel couldn’t even dare send any letters back to Angela, Henry or even Dalston. He was certain that even if he did, every letter he’d send would get back to him, unopened. But he had been able to even forget about Randall for a few days at a time, now that he had found new friends. Clark, Brenda and…

“Claire—” He knew that his words wouldn’t reach her. She was dead. He had seen her. He could still remember seeing her, back at the morgue. He wished he couldn’t. He wished that he had been battered enough in the assault ordered by Hawks to forget about seeing Claire after she had died. He wished he would only be able to remember her when she was still alive. And then, perhaps, he could have deluded himself into keeping her death as abstract as possible. A concept, but not a reality.

Pathetic sobs came to him. He was grateful that the Tritons were so far from him, and that the rain that rang all around him covered his crying.

“I’m sorry,” he covered his face with his arms.

It still hurt to remember Claire. And while staying with Brenda and Clark had been a great comfort to him— He was latching unto them too strongly. What else could explain his absurd dream? His ill-suited feelings? Why was he so happy with them? He shouldn’t be happy. Because, when he had been too happy; his life always took a turn for the worse. Hershel Layton might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He could recognize a pattern when he saw one.

_If I stay here, I’ll destroy their happiness._

Yes. He always did that. He had ruined the lives of Angela, Henry, and Dalston. His biggest comfort was that he hadn’t played a direct hand in Claire’s death. But if he stayed, he’d definitely cause a rift between Clark and Brenda. Even if he could have them as that selfish part of him wanted, he knew that they’d be miserable. Brenda had never been shy of saying that she wanted to live away from London. The city was too crowded, polluted and busy. She definitely didn’t want to raise a family so close to the city center. Misthallery was an ideal spot to raise a family. Fresh air, open space, the solitude of nature… Hershel knew that she loved it here. Clark enjoyed London, but Hershel knew he always felt most alive when he was out in the field, actively mapping out an archeology dig. Like he was right now. And regardless of whether he could work around that, Luke… Luke deserved to live a happy life, without any unnecessary unhappiness. He had a mother and a father. And that was all that he needed.

_I have to go._

Hershel sat up as if possessed by that single thought ringing in his head.

He turned on his nightstand’s light. The golden glow hurt his eyes at first, but he quickly got adjusted. He picked up his suitcase and began to rummage through his belongings. He picked out a lighter shirt and a pair of trousers and pulled off his pajamas to put them in the trunk.

The rain outside grew even louder. He couldn’t even hear his own thoughts anymore. But he still felt a single-minded compulsion leading him on.

_I must go._

He picked up his jacket and umbrella from the entrance. Hershel felt the cold brass of the door under his palm. His eyes turned back and looked at the small blue door leading to the wine cellar. If he maybe turned around—

_Go._

The door opened, letting in a roaring wind. Hershel stepped out unto the rain. Lightning flashed, and four seconds later, the deafening roar of thunder rang through his ears. His umbrella was a pathetic excuse of protection against the rain. He had been drenched by the time he had stepped down the staircase that led up to the Triton’s house. But even so, he pressed on. He found himself standing right at the bus stop, that uselessly stated that the first bus back to London would leave at seven in the morning.

 _Go_.

Hershel simply began to walk in the direction the bus to London would go. One foot forward. Then the other. Was he shivering? He probably was. But for the first time in so long, Hershel was finally numb. He didn’t think. He didn’t feel. Claire didn’t come to his mind. Neither did his other two friends. Their names didn’t even pass by his head. Their voices were like a faint whisper that was covered up by the wind, the thunder, the rain. The only thing he knew, was the weight on his right hand. His luggage. The only thing he saw, was the occasional lamppost that lit the way.

The rain ran down his eyes. The thunder rang in his throat. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t sobbing. He didn’t feel anything.

He didn’t know for how long he had walked until the light of a pair of headlights approached him. Some kind soul talked to him. Hershel couldn’t hear what they had asked. But somehow, he found himself riding in the back seat of a vehicle. The name of the man that had given him the lift to the city eluded him. He couldn’t even remember much about him, safe for the way his yellow hair reflected the light of the lampposts. The ride was… quiet. He couldn’t even ask for a puzzle from the stranger in these tiring times.

There were no clouds in London. Dawn came in, painting the sky from black to gray to orange… and blue.

Hershel was standing in front of Gresenheller University. The clothes he had were still wet. And the ones in his trunk were most likely also wet. But he was here. There were no students on campus yet. But he could see that some of the faculty looked at him with shock. But that didn’t matter. He walked over to the reception and calmly asked for Dean Delmona. The bleary-eyed receptionist guided him to a waiting room, and he remained there until the Dean arrived. By then, his clothes were mostly dry. Hershel had tried to tip his hat at the receptionist but found with mild concern that he didn’t have it on his head. Funny. He didn’t feel bad about it. Maybe he was just that numb.

Classes were not to start until three weeks from now. But there were still things he could do. Like, look at his office. It was a clean, empty room. A desk facing the gardens, and an empty bookcase to the right.

So here he was. Alone. Claire wasn’t here. Clark and Brenda were away from him and would cause him no more strife. He could just focus. And live to fulfill Randall’s desire. To become the greatest archeologist there could be. This was what he wanted.

Was it?

Hershel sat on his desk and looked out the window. It was a beautiful day outside. He should go and enjoy it. And maybe he should get breakfast, too. It had been a long walk from Misthallery to London. Or maybe he hadn’t walked very far and was driven most the way there. He really didn’t know… But still. Going outside would be a good idea.

Hershel stayed put, looking out the window as the sun began to rise in the sky. He didn’t know if he had stayed put for an hour or three days. But what he did know, was that his reverie was broken by a series of loud, strong knocks.

“Hershel!” That voice. His stomach sunk. His hands grew sweaty, and for a second his heart soared.

No. It wasn’t Clark. How could Clark have arrived here?

“Hershel! Answer us! I _know_ you’re in there!” Clark yelled, hitting the door with his fist.

Hershel walked to the door. But remained still. He looked at the doorknob. He could turn it and let Clark in. That would be good. But…

He could hear Clark's shaking breathing. He was sobbing quietly. Hershel’s hand shook. He wanted to let him in. But he didn’t know what would happen if he did. Would Clark scream at him? Hit him? Or worse yet: remain completely unaffected?

“Hershel,” Brenda’s voice came from the other side of the door. “When we didn’t see you at home—And that you had left your hat, we had thought…”

He heard the door budge. Was Brenda resting her hand on the door? Hearing both of them on the other side of the door made him want to do nothing more than to just open the damn thing and hug them both. But that was the thing. He didn’t want to hug them, because his mind wouldn’t be able to think of it as a friendly hug. He was so, so selfish—

“You promised me. You promised you wouldn’t do anything reckless!” Clark said, his voice breaking “Leaving in the middle of the night is reckless, Hershel!”

“Why did you leave us so suddenly?” Brenda asked “Did we do something wrong? Is there anything we could have done to stop it?”

No, no. They didn’t. It was all his fault. They were devastated. He heard it in their voices. And it was his fault. What was he thinking, leaving out in the middle of the night? He couldn’t even remember very well how he ended up here. He wasn’t thinking anything back then. And now? He couldn’t let them in because of these stupid, uncontrollable feelings— And now, because of them, he was going to lose the only two friends that he had left.

“Hershel—!”

“Hershel—”

They had both called out to him. But this time, there was no giggle after their coincidental synchronization. He didn’t know who was crying, and who was trying to hold back their tears. It hurt, far more than it would have done if he didn’t harbor such intense emotions at the moment. Hearing your friends cry for you is a bad enough thing.

But— their cries. Claire—

“W-we’re your friends.” Brenda sobbed. “I-I thought… I thought everything was fine…”

Hershel pressed his hands against his eyes and rubbed the tears out with the base of his thumbs. He was shaking. Shaking? How ridiculous. A true gentleman—

“Please,” Clark said, knocking again on the door. But his knock was quiet. Almost feeble. “Let us know you’re in there.”

Hershel opened his mouth. And closed it again. He wasn’t able to say anything. He wasn’t—

“I know I haven’t been acting like myself lately and— and I’m sorry.” His voice said, suddenly.

Clark and Brenda’s reaction was immediate. He could hear them stand at attention. There weren’t any more sobs. Was their silence from jaded disappointment? Or cautious optimism?

“I have…” his voice continued. “My time in Misthallery was the best I’ve felt in so long. Especially since Claire… well. I loved the town, and it’s solitude. And I—”

Hershel let out a dry chuckle. So this was it, wasn’t it?

“I don’t want to lose you two. But, for your wellbeing, I have to do it.” And there was just one thing he could say that would immediately make them hate him. It was simple. “I love you. I love you two just too much. It’s funny. When I realized Claire was dead, I thought I had died myself. She had made me feel more than I had ever felt before then. And I thought I’d never feel that way ever again. But when I’m with you, Clark, and you, Brenda… I feel—I feel alive.”

He heard a quiet gasp. And Hershel prepared himself for the inevitable rejection.

“I love you too!” Brenda immediately said. “I’ve been having dreams, where Claire is with us in Misthallery! And she’s… she’s… She’s happy for us. For all three of us.”

What.

Clark laughed. “I love you too, old bean. Maybe for far longer than I could recall. I didn’t realize until I got the news of your coma I— I realized I had been such a fool. But even so, I couldn’t say it. I suppose none of us could.”

The door opened.

The bags beneath Clark and Brenda’s eyes were pronounced. But their eyes— their eyes were as bright as could be. Once again, Hershel felt his stomach turn. Clark had brought the top hat. The guilt that had tried to bite at him couldn’t even leave toothmarks now. He wasn’t guilty. He wasn’t guilty at all.

“Hershel,” Clark said, and gently placed the hat on his head. “I think this is yours.”

He laughed. And reached out to take Clark’s hand. Hershel could hear his heart beating against his ears. He reached out for Brenda’s hand, too. They both held on tight to his hands.

Hershel’s eyes went from Brenda’s to Clark’s. Was his another dream? It had to be. But he didn’t mind not waking from this one just yet.

“But how— I can’t live in Misthallery _and_ London. I want to be able to live on my own. But—I want to be with _you_.” He said, finally touching upon the sad reality that for as real and as genuine as their love was, it just wouldn’t work out.

“Misthallery isn’t that far from London,” Brenda said, with a smile.

“And when there’s a will, there’s a way!” Clark agreed. “But let’s talk about all that over breakfast. Just give me a moment to telephone back to Misthallery to let Doland and Luke know we found you.”

Clark let his hand go, and before going over to the office telephone Hershel had, he stopped to give him a small kiss on the cheek. Hershel brought his hand up to his cheek, feeling the heat irradiating off it. His fingers also felt tingly just to touch there where Clark had gently kissed him.

“There’s a lovely little place not far from here!” Brenda giggled, probably endeared at Hershel’s reaction. “Clark and I went there often when we were still dating. I think you’re going to like it!”

“They have an English breakfast that is so big, Brenda and I could never hope to even finish it!” Clark said, hanging up the phone. He turned to look at Hershel with a smile. “Do you want to give it a try? I think if we’re three we could actually finish the plate!”

“That sounds—” He looked at his two sweethearts. “Like a great idea. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally! This is the end of this lovely little fanfiction. There's another chapter that will come after this, but that will simply be an epilogue. I hope all you enjoyed it.  
> I would like to thank TheMockingJ3, ElegantPhoenix15, and dogbuns for reviewing!  
> I would also like to thank ArmHairOfChekov, TheMockingJ3, ElegantPhoenix15, TrueSylviaAttorney, dogbuns, AthenaCat, swordlesbianeowyn, LadyofHeart, cloverleafs and the 4 anonymous people for their kudos!  
> I greatly appreciate all your support!


	6. Chapter 6

Hershel closed the thesis he had been reading and stretched out. Beyond the small light on his desk, the rest of his office was dark. What _time_ was it? He turned his eyes towards the wristwatch that Clark had given him on his last birthday.

Quater to eleven.

Goodness. As much as he hated to admit it, Clark had been right when he said that he needed a watch on him so he wouldn’t lose track of time so easily. At least he was now leaving the university campus before midnight.

“Alright… I’ll go home,” he said to himself.

Now that winter break had started, the campus was much less lively than it had been when students still filled the hallways of Gresenheller. However, now that it was a little more lonely, he could take his time to enjoy the lights set up for the season. Some parts of the campus had been strung up with multi-colored light bulbs, that made the buildings look like they were made of gingerbread and not stone. It hadn’t snowed yet, but he could feel the frost nipping at his nose. He pulled the scarf Brenda had made him a little closer. He felt much warmer and didn’t mind the wait it took for his old car to warm up.

It would soon be Christmas. He still hadn’t asked what sort of plans did Clark and Brenda have for the holidays. Brenda always loved going on trips, and she loved getting more odd souvenirs for her collection from every family vacation. So more often than not, they usually ended up every break going to some icy ski resort or warm tropical beach. Luke always loved the hotels where he could get little chocolates on the pillows. However, Clark also liked it when the family just came over to his house so they could spend a cozy time together without really going out. And maybe solve some puzzles, too. Luke really liked puzzles and enjoyed sharing some really creative puzzles with Hershel.

When he arrived at his home, he immediately checked the mailbox. His heart leaped when he saw that he had gotten two letters. He usually got one every week or so, but it was always a lovely surprise when he got any earlier than that. But two at once? That was unexpected! He eagerly took them and went to make himself a warm cup of tea to enjoy with the letters. He noticed, that one of the letters had been sent as special delivery. So it must have been written later but arrived along with the other letter. It… worried him. But, nonetheless, he started with the plain-looking letter.

As usual, there were three separate letters in the envelope. Luke’s letter was the shortest, but as usual, he had left him a little puzzle to solve. This time, Brenda’s letter was much shorter than usual, though she certainly did take her time to remind him of how much she loved him. It seemed that she was happy to say that Luke had gotten himself a new friend: Arianna, Evan Barde’s daughter. And it seemed that it would soon be election season in Misthallery. She hadn’t been shy in adding a sarcastic comment, wondering who would ever win the mayorship: the relatively unpopular Greppe or Evan Barde, both of which had little interest in making any changes concerning the town’s ‘rent’ issue. But regardless of her personal ideas, she concluded that Arianna and Tony were both very sweet children and that she was glad Luke could befriend them.

“ _Arianna is a very smart and kind girl,_ ” she wrote, “ _Unfortunately, she and Luke can’t play outside for long. But she does seem to like puzzles, so at least they can play at that._ ”

Hershel smiled. He wondered why Luke hadn’t mentioned her in his letter. Perhaps he had written his letter in advance before meeting Arianna?

Clark’s letter was the longest. As usual, he asked if he still left his office in a near-impossible mess for poor Rosa to clean up. And, quite fittingly, he asked if his watch had been of any help in making him rest at reasonable times instead of letting himself get immersed in his research. If he didn’t know it’d be a ridiculous concept, Hershel would have suspected that Clark had sent some sort of bird informants to look after him and report back to him. But one the usual list of worries and grievances were through, he began to write about how much he had been reminiscing lately. About that time, when he and Brenda had woken up to find he had vanished, leaving behind only his top hat and no explanation.

Even after all these years, reading the hurt he had caused him— caused them, made him feel guilty. Hershel knew he wasn’t thinking straight. But reading just how frazzled Clark had been, he wondered if he could’ve gone about things in a different way. However, as if knowing the way he’d feel, Clark wrote: “ _But even if back then I had been worried, I realized just how much you meant to me. I had first suspected it when I heard of your coma. But at that moment I knew that I couldn’t bear to lose you and that I would do anything to know you were safe. I could even storm into Dean Delmona’s office!_ ”

Hershel chuckled. He hadn’t been there, but he could easily imagine how that must’ve been like.

“ _When you said you loved us, I remember turning to look at Brenda_.” Clark’s letter continued. “ _She had told me before, that she had started to develop feelings for you and that she didn’t how to stop them. But I hadn’t told her that I too was in love with you. But she took my hand and then she spoke to you. I don’t know when or how she found out, but I’m certain that she knew, or at least suspected of my feelings towards you. It was a relief._ ”

But really, the biggest relief had been for Hershel. He remembered being so certain that after he made his confession, his friends would be so disgusted, that they’d leave him forever.

After that point, Clark’s letter went on reminisce about some family vacations and birthdays they had spent together. He then touched upon the week’s events. About how excited Evan was for the election, and how they had been invited to his inauguration campaign. Clark was quite thankful that Brenda hadn’t immediately challenged Barde since she still held fast to her own thoughts about the rent. He also shared that Luke seemed to have become friends with Arianna. Though, it seems that Arianna has a very unusual form of asthma, and it hadn’t been responding to any medication for a few years now. Evan told Clark, that one time she had been playing by the old factory and she had an attack so bad, she had to be hospitalized for three days.

Hershel couldn’t even bear the thought of being in Barde’s shoes. He loved Luke like a son. To imagine him in such danger… He wouldn’t know what he’d do.

Finally, Clark wrote about how much he missed him, and how he couldn’t wait to see him over the holidays. He promised to call by next Saturday, to discuss plans “ _Once you have sorted out whatever you need before you can leave for a well-earned vacation._ ”

It was a Wednesday, and Clark had sent the letter last Sunday, so Hershel knew that he should wait for a call from them in a few days time. However—

The envelope with the special delivery mark was much thinner than the first one. Hershel took a sip of lukewarm tea to give himself some courage and opened the letter. The first thing he noticed, was the tell-tale stains of tears on the ink. He felt his heart sink as his eyes ran through the incredibly brief letter.

_Dear Hershel,_

_Luke and I will be visiting you in London next Thursday.Clark is busy._

_I’m sorry._

_Brenda_

He read over the letter, again and again. As if to try to discern if there was some sort of hidden meaning in the letter. But he couldn’t read it if there was something to make out. The only thing he knew, was that Clark wasn’t coming. Fortunately, she had written that he was busy, else, he would have suspected the worst. But even so, what had caused her to tear up when writing the letter? Why was she apologizing? Why are they coming over so suddenly? Clark had promised to call. But if they were coming over…

He got up and took the phone. He glanced at his wristwatch, and mentally apologized for calling just before midnight. But he _had_ to call them.

He waited in the line. After two dull tones, the phone was unhooked—

“Doland?” Hershel asked. “May I speak to Clark, please?”

But Doland— if it had been Doland who answered— didn’t say a word. The conversation ended immediately. He tried dialing again, but the call wasn’t coming through. Thinking that it must’ve been some mistake, he hung up, and once again tried to dial again. But the call didn’t come through…

He heard a faint engine sound pull up just outside his house.

Without thinking, Hershel set down his teacup and went to take the nearest thing he could use as a fencing foil: a fireplace poker. He held his breath. Who would stop by his house at a time like this? And why did they pull over immediately after he tried to contact the Tritons? Something was terribly wrong… He took his stance and placed his back against a wall. If he needed to escape, he could always run to the convenience store and call the police. But if he had to stay and fight, he could at least keep his back safe like this.

The doorbell rung.

Hershel took a few steps, and peeked out of the peephole in his door— And set down the fire poker to open the door.

“Brenda! Luke!” He sighed with relief, hugging the boy. “I just finished reading your letters. But I haven’t set up any sort of sleeping arrangements.”

“I’m sorry, Hershel.” Brenda said, “I know I said by Thursday but…”

“Well… it _is_ Thursday.” Hershel said, pointing at his wristwatch. Both Luke and Brenda were pale, and he had been hoping that his little joke would make them smile.

It did work with Brenda, but Luke was far too tired to even give a grin.

“Luke, you can go to sleep in my bedroom. I can set up the guest room for your mum, but you can go to sleep right away. Is that alright?”

“Mhm.” Luke rubbed his eyes and dragged his small suitcase towards his room. “Thank you, Papa. Good night.”

“Good night, my boy.” Hershel said, before turning to look at Brenda. She was also carrying a suitcase.

“I parked just next to your car,” She looked away from him, but he could tell that her eyes were glassy with tears. “I hope you don’t mind?”

“Brenda…” He held her hand “What happened? Are you alright? You didn’t write much in your letter. I tried calling but—”

“I—” Brenda blinked, and she finally let her tears run down her cheeks.

Knowing her, she must’ve been holding them back all the way from Misthallery, since she didn’t want to cry in front of Luke. She hugged him and cried against his chest. He held her close to him, running his hand across her back to soothe her.

“I-I missed you,” her voice shook. “B-but I’m here because Clark hasn’t been himself lately. H-he’s just— he’s completely changed overnight, he scares me, Hershel! So many things have happened, I-I don’t know where to start—!”

“Then how about we start with a cup of tea? I can brew you some.”

Brenda sniffed and broke the hug. She tried to wipe her tears, but more kept tumbling out despite her best efforts “Th-that would be nice, yes.”

He guided her to his sofa and soon brought her a cup. Brenda’s hands were shaking, but she didn’t drop the teacup. He sat down next to her and waited for her to start explaining what she knew. Brenda took a few cautious sips of tea.

“Hershel… Evan Barde is dead.”

The news seemed too ridiculous to believe. Evan Barde? Dead? That’s impossible. He had just started his election campaign… But Brenda’s eyes were earnest.

“And—” she hesitated, turning to look in the direction of his bedroom where Luke was, most likely, sleeping. She took another nervous sip and lowered her voice to a whisper. “The circumstances were very odd. See, the police said it was a suicide. B-but… Clark saw it.”

“Clark—?” His mind buzzed as thoughts began to form at break-neck speed. Brenda had just said that Clark wasn’t acting like himself. Would it just be the stress of seeing Evan Barde die?

“He was fishing in the lake by the manor at night, so he told me he was too far away to tell very well.” Brenda looked down at her teacup. “…The day after that, Barde’s will was read and everything went to Clark.”

Hershel’s blood ran cold.

Could Clark—?

Was he—?

No. It couldn’t be. Hershel knew him. There was no way, that the man they loved would ever _do_ such a thing!

But the circumstances… they weren’t favorable. Hershel gripped his wristwatch, feeling the lukewarm metal against his fingers. Still, he made no comment. After all, Brenda seemed like she wanted to say something else, but was having trouble finding the right words to say it.

“Clark took on Evan Barde’s election campaign. Apparently, nobody minded him suddenly coming in and taking up the candidacy. But he had never been too interested in politics before. It’s like he’s a completely different man.” Brenda tucked her hair behind her ear. “Doland has been very busy too, helping him prepare for the campaign. They’re both so busy, I barely see them leave Clark’s study. And—”

She interrupted herself and chewed her lip.

“And?” he gently asked, to prod her on.

“I’m— I’m not sure. There’s something off about Doland. But I can’t put my finger on what it is… maybe it’s just the workload. Now that Clark’s an extensive landowner, he needs a lot of help with the management of the property… yes, maybe it’s that.”

Even as she said that, she didn’t seem to be confident in her assessment.

“I sent the letter to you after Clark and I had an argument.” She turned to look at him. “He hadn’t slept for an entire day, and I could tell. When I tried to ask if something was wrong, he snapped at me and told me th-that it was n-none of my b-business.”

Seeing her break down into tears made Hershel’s blood boil. If it hadn’t been Clark, Hershel would’ve outright driven back to Misthallery to deliver his righteous rage for hurting her like this. But, at least for now, he hugged her and let her cry. After that, she couldn’t say any more, and Hershel couldn’t bring himself to ask. He poured her out another cup and went to set up the guest room for her to rest up after the stressful few days she had had.

When Brenda went to sleep, he lingered in the living room, cleaning up as best as he could to feel like he was doing something useful. All of this was too much information. Why hadn’t anybody answered when he called to Misthallery? Why was Clark acting so odd? Why would Evan Barde leave everything to him? Was this involved with Clark’s witnessing his death? And what about Brenda’s uneasiness about Doland?

“…Claire,” he said as if she could listen to him and offer advice “what should I do?”

He was more than willing to let Luke and Brenda stay in his apartment for as long as they needed to. But, he couldn’t just leave Clark alone. Even with all what he had heard, Hershel worried about him. He looked at the letter Clark had written to him. When he had penned this letter, Clark had been the same as usual. He had an eye for details, a kind heart and great dedication to his family and loved ones. What could make a man change completely in just a few days?

He turned his eyes towards the door to his bedroom. What about Luke? How did he feel about all this? He had become friends with Arianna, hadn’t he? Had he seen or heard Clark and Brenda arguing? Hershel took off his top hat and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. It was clear to him, that he couldn’t just let things be as they were for now. Even if he had just been the Triton’s good friend and nothing else, he couldn’t ignore his friends in need.

With this decision in mind, he went to bed.

The next morning, Luke was mostly back to his usual self through his usual peppiness seemed a little more subdued. Had Hershel not known the circumstances, he might’ve thought Luke was sick.

“Papa?” Luke asked after drinking a tall glass of orange juice “Can we go to that candy store that’s next to the bus station after breakfast?”

“Of course, Luke. I needed to sort some papers at Gressenheller before going out for the holidays. In the meantime, maybe you and your mother could go to the theater or watch a film?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea!” Brenda turned to Luke. “How about that, Luke?”

“I don’t know… I just wanted to go to the candy store. I don’t really want to go out after that.”

“Alright then…” Hershel felt the brim of his hat. “Then we can go to the candy store and Brenda can take you back here. How does that sound?”

“Well…” Luke chewed his lip. He sunk back in his chair. “Alright. Are we going to stay here in London for Christmas?”

“I don’t know, my boy.” Hershel said glancing down at his watch. It was only nine in the morning. “I think I’ll have to go to Misthallery and talk to Clark after cleaning—”

“But Dad has been busy!” Luke’s eyes darted back to his mother, before turning back to him. “I don’t think he knows it’ll soon be Christmas…”

“Then we can remind him!” He smiled down at the boy, then stood up. “Come on, then. Let’s go to the candy store and I’ll go back to finish cleaning up my office.”

“Cleaning up?” Luke rose his eyebrows, before adding with his usual smile “But then you’ll _never_ finish!”

Brenda tried, and failed, to not giggle.

Hershel hadn’t expected Luke to recover that quickly with just that comment, but despite his embarrassment, he was glad that Luke seemed to be more like himself.

“Luke, do you think we could help Hershel clean up his office and finish up sooner?”

“Yes! I can help!” Luke almost jumped from his seat and ran to Hershel’s bedroom to take out his toothbrush.

With Luke and Brenda’s help, Hershel found that his semester-long clutter had vanished by the time the sun was at the highest point in the sky. Even with candy, the three of them found themselves feeling a little peckish by then. They went to a small Chinese restaurant that was close by and for a moment it was almost like any other time that the Tritons had come to visit him in London.

Almost. But not quite.

“Are we going to Misthallery today?” Luke asked as they walked back home, looking anxiously at the setting sun.

“We can go tomorrow,” Brenda said, turning to look at him. “I wouldn’t want Hershel to drive too late at night and I’m still tired about going out yesterday.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “We’ll go tomorrow. Maybe we can help him sort out his campaign things before taking a well-earned vacation.”

The look Luke and Brenda shared was telling. But they didn’t outright tell him that they thought that was impossible. So he chose to pretend that he had no idea of how difficult the task would be.

Instead, he opened up the door to his home. Luke walked in and said that he was going to look for a board game they could play together before packing their things for tomorrow.

Brenda was about to walk in, when Hershel stopped her and whispered.

“I’m going out for a bit. Can you stay and look after Luke?”

She turned to look inside, and knowing what she was about to say, he reassured her.

“I won’t take long. I just need to talk to Claire.”

The name made her eyes grow wide. However, she understood what he meant, and nodded. “But try to come soon, Luke really missed you and I think he wants to play with you.”

“I will.” He reassured her.

Brenda walked inside and closed the door behind her.

Hershel turned around and looked up at the stars smiling down at him. Even after all these years, he could still remember Claire as clearly as he had seen her the day she had gone to test that time machine. And while sometimes he could still feel the sting of losing her, more often than not her memory gave him reassurance. Which was something that, for some reason, he found himself needing.

Hershel wandered away from his door and walked down the street. He stuck his hands inside his coat pockets, to try to warm them up as best as he could.

“Something is wrong with Clark,” He muttered beneath his breath. “Claire, I know you’d be worried for him, Luke and Brenda. You know me:I must get to the bottom of this.”

He chuckled. But despite that, he felt the tears in his eyes. He took a moment to collect himself.

“Claire, I love you.” Yes, even after all these years, he knew he loved her. Would this love, live with him for the rest of his life? He wasn’t sure. But what he did know, was that even if they were so strange his feelings were true “I love them, too. But you know that. I promise I’ll find the solution to whatever is wrong with Clark. And Doland.”

Hershel took a deep breath.

“Not just because that’s what a gentleman does, but because I want them to be happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the end of this fic!  
> I had wanted to do a little setup to the prequel series and how that'd fit in with this ship. I had originally tried to have Layton arrive at Misthallery at roughly the same point as he does in the games, but the more I thought about it the more sense it made for Clark and/or Brenda to ask for help as soon as stuff got fishy.  
> So, in this AU Emmy still wasn't Layton's assistant but we can assume that she later makes an appearance. In general, it'd be fun to think how the entire series would pan out considering that Layton probably does talk with Clark and Brenda about his adventures (if he didn't go into detail in the usual series).  
> I just wonder how things would be once UF started to go down-- but alas. That's not really in the scope of this fic (and I'll admit I'm not planning on writing it).  
> Anyway, thank you very much for reading all the way to the end! I hope you all enjoyed it, and that you stay safe!


End file.
